" Then he rode
into the night.
Black Jack! Lawrence Montgomery had made up his pack and struck straight
back for the nearest town. There he asked for tidings of a certain Black
Jack, and there he got what he wanted in heaps. Everyone knew Black
Jack--too well! There followed a brief summary of the history of the
desperado and his countless crimes, unspeakable tales of cunning and
courage and merciless vengeance taken.
Vance Cornish turned the last page of the article, and there was the
reproduction of the painting. He held his breath when he saw it. The
outlaw sat on his horse with his head raised and turned, and it was the
very replica of Terence Colby as the boy had waved to them from the back
of Le Sangre. More than a family, sketchy resemblance--far more.
There was the same large, dark eye; the same smile, half proud and half
joyous; the same imperious lift of the head; the same bold carving of the
features. There were differences, to be sure. The nose of Black Jack had
been more cruelly arched, for instance, and his cheekbones were higher
and more pronounced. But in spite of the dissimilarities the resemblance
was more than striking.
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